Steven sat inside his garden, reflecting on what he just experienced.

________
Flames licked the ground around him, burning everything to pinkish ash. The screams of civilians broke the sky as they fruitlessly ran for their Ives.
Allies consisting of witches and demons standing in opposition to him, blocking him from his goal.
His objective.
His Lady.
Weapons and magic at the ready, threatening him to make a move from those he called allies, friends.
Some, even family.
Despite all that, the most heartbreaking sight came directly from Connie, his lady.
She was hurt.
She looked scared,
Ashamed.
Disgusted.
Towards him.
He took a step, and she took two.
Away from him.
He reached for her.
He needed to help her.
Heal her.
Hold her.
He was met with resistance.
Shocked by a boundary sigil.
Pearl's lightning burned his clawed palm.
Clawed?
His...hand was clawed?
Why?
Why was his hand clawed?
Why did he tower over everyone?
Why were they stopping him from helping his lady?
Why was she holding her arm?
Where did that blood come from?
Why were his claws wet?
No...
No...
Nonono!
-----------
"Steven?"

He looked up at the sound of her voice. Her concerned voice.

"Dapper, your hand?"

Steven looked down and felt shame and fear clenched his heart as he looked at the beastly claw. His right hand clamped in his left arm as tears pricked the corner of his eyes, his brows furrowed gingerly, and his cheeks filled with purple flush.

The image of her blood in his hands blinked, just for a millisecond.

Enough for him to break down,
for tears to flow like rivers.

For her to rush by his side,
Hold him close,
caress his nape.

For him to tremble apologies,
Needlessly, heartfelt apologies.

For her comfort him as he always did her,
To protect him from his nightmares and skepticisms.

To ease her from her own as they held each other through the night.